


To Tell You I Set You Apart

by sequence_fairy



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Meddling TARDIS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just need a figurative kick in the pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Tell You I Set You Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caedmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/gifts).



> Written for [ Caedmonfaith ](http://caedmonfaith.tumblr.com) as part of this year's [ DW Secret Santa](http://dwsecretsanta.tumblr.com).

Time Lords don’t sulk. No matter what Rose thinks. He most assuredly is not sulking. Or brooding. Or moping. He’s thinking. Alone. In the dark. Because it’s quiet and he’s tired and it’s been a bloody long day. He sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face, and then back up through his hair, destroying the perfect coif he’d spent more time on this morning than he’d care to admit to.

Rose has gone to bed. Or at least to her room. He doesn’t blame her, he’d have had enough of him by the end of today too. He’s not sure he’ll ever manage to make this up to her. He was a bloody idiot today, even if he had the best of intentions. Of course he had to save Reinette, but he knew, oh he knew, what Rose was feeling and he could read the disappointment and the disbelief and the way her eyes had flashed with unshed tears when she’d left him in the console room with his letter.

He’d dropped the letter on his desk when he’d come in here earlier, to think, and hadn’t looked at it for the hours he’d been sprawled on the settee. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge so he can get to his feet.

“Made a right mess of things today, didn’t you?” A disembodied voice asks from somewhere behind him, and the Doctor startles.

“Who’s there?” the Doctor asks, sweeping his sonic around the dark room. He thinks a command to the TARDIS and the lights come up to a soft glow that eliminates all the shadows in the room.

“Jus’ me,” says the voice again. Still disembodied and still coming from somewhere behind him even though he’s just whirled around to check. “Look, you daft idiot, can’t you tell I’m in your head?” The voice sounds so familiar, but the Doctor can’t place it.

“What? You’re in my head?”

“Yes, bloomin’ imbecile, in your head, that’s me.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The Doctor paces a lap around the study, mind racing. “I know who you are. You’re me! Or well, you were me. The one with the leather?”

“Good job, smartypants.” The Doctor arches an eyebrow at the sarcasm, but the voice ploughs on, “So, tell me about how you’re going to fix things with Rose.”

“Fix things? She won’t even look at me.” The Doctor drags his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends.

“And whose fault is that then? Leavin’ Rose to the mercy of those clockwork things while you’re off gallivanting with some French bint. Lucky you managed to get back on your own. Not sure I’d have been in a charitable mood if I’d been passing through. Would probably have just gone straight to Rose, left you to rot.”

“Oi!” the Doctor exclaims, “I’d have gotten back. Might have taken me a bit, but I’d have done it. I’d always come back for Rose.”

“Rose doesn’t know that though, does she? Have you ever told her?”

“You bloody well know I’ve told her,” the Doctor says, remembering the conversation he and Rose had had outside the chippy not even a week earlier.

“I mean actually told her, not just couched it in cryptic language and hoped she’d understand.”

“Well,” the Doctor replies, drawing the word out. “No, not as such.”

“And you wonder why she feels like you’re always trying to leave her behind.”

“I’m not! It’s just —”

“I know, there’s _rules_. Since when have we ever followed the rules?” the other Doctor asks.

“You’ve got a point there,” the Doctor agrees ruefully. “But still, I can’t - we _can’t_. And you know why.”

There is a silence then, as both think about why exactly what the other Doctor was suggesting would be a bad idea. The Doctor takes a deep breath, pushing away the thoughts of losing Rose to anything from old age to a disaster he was helpless to stop.

“Look, you can’t live your life like that,” the other Doctor says pointedly, “believe me, I know. You’ve got the chance I never had. Don’t waste it on maybes.”

“But she’ll leave, they always do in the end, and I don’t -” The Doctor stops, as if admitting out loud that he can’t lose her will make it more real than it already is.

“I already know how you feel about it. I’m you, remember?” the other Doctor says, almost gently. “Jus’ - talk to her.”

The Doctor fingers the letter on his desk, then sets it back down, “Talk to her? I don’t think Rose wants to talk to _me_ any time soon.” He fidgets with other papers and odds and ends on his desk, and silence fills the room as the other Doctor waits for him to sort it through in his head. 

  
He’d hurt Rose today, and after the conversation outside the chippy _… oh_. She _had_ understood him. Probably had understood him more than he’d ever realised. He leaned against the desk, waiting for the witty riposte he was certain was coming from the other him in his head. Except it never came. The other him was silent.

“I screwed up today. She could have been killed!”

“Yes, she could have been,” the other Doctor says seriously, and at the Doctor’s exclamation, shrugs his psychic shoulders, as if to ask if he expected anything else. “But she wasn’t. And she’s upset and probably a bit scared, and she’s unsure of her place on our ship. You keep pushing her away. I’d advise you to stop doing that.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black,” the Doctor grouses.

“Thought you’d get it right this time.”

“Look, are you here to help or just to snark at me about my failings? ‘Cause if that’s all this is, you can go back to whatever recess of my mind you came from.”

The other Doctor raises psychic hands in surrender. “I _am_ trying to help.”

“I know,” the Doctor says, drawing a hand down over his face, “it’s just…”

“Just what?”

There’s long pause before the Doctor answers. “I don’t know where to start,” he admits quietly. “I’ve been keeping a distance between us for so long that I don’t know how to close it.

“How about you start by stopping with this whole moping thing you’re doing.”

“I’m not moping,” the Doctor retorts, and he can feel the snicker of his counterpart in his head.

“Sure, right. Not moping. Not sulking either I suppose?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” the Doctor snarks back, “all hot and cold and broodily hiding under the console and ‘for a human’.”

“She saw through us even then,” the voice says, resigned, and a little wistful. The Doctor sinks back down on the settee, head in his hands. The presence of the other Doctor leaves him.

“Thanks for all your help,” the Doctor says sarcastically, and is rewarded with a sharp fizz of reproach from the TARDIS. “Oh, don’t you start,” he growls at the time machine and the study is plunged into darkness. He stubs his toe on the edge of the coffee table and swears. “Fine, I’ll go now.” The lights come back up as he’s leaving the study, and this time the fizz in the back of his mind is encouraging.

He takes the long way ‘round to Rose’s room, trying to come up with an apology that she won’t outright reject and he’s still dithering about phrasing when he gets to her door. Her voice is muffled by the shut door, but he can clearly hear the intent behind it. She doesn’t want to see him. He turns to go, when the temperature drops in the hallway.

“Oh for the love of –” he knocks on Rose’s door again, and this time he hears her shuffling across the room and steps back just as she opens the door.

“Blimey, it’s cold out there,” Rose says, as her breath fogs in the chill of the hallway. “What do you want?” she asks, and the Doctor raises his hands between them, palms out.

“I just wanted…” he stops, swallows as Rose’s face hardens. “I wanted to talk, can we talk?”

Rose looks him up and down, and then rubs her arms through the thick woolly sweater she’s wearing. “Fine,” she says, and steps aside to let him in. She shuts the door behind him, and the Doctor breathes a sigh of relief as the temperature of Rose’s room lifts a couple of degrees, and the ends of his fingers start to thaw.

Rose sinks down onto her bed, looking at him expectantly. The Doctor rocks back on his heels, hands stuffed into his pockets. Rose raises an eyebrow.

“Um,” he begins eloquently, and Rose sighs.

“You’ve got 30 seconds to ‘talk’ or clear out. I don’t want to hear your excuses Doctor. You left me behind today, and I’m in no mood to hear about why.”

“I don’t - Rose, that’s not —” The Doctor moves towards her and Rose backs up on the bed to get away from him. He stops short and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. She’s looking at him, but there’s no emotion on her face. It’s a mask of indifference, but the Doctor knows her better than she thinks, and he can see the way her jaw clenches. They look at each other in silence. “Look, Rose,” the Doctor begins, spreading his hands in front of him as a peace offering, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She asks in a clipped tone, and the Doctor raises his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry for leaving you behind, I’m sorry I got ahead of myself and I’m sorry I let you think I wasn’t coming back. I’m _always_ coming back Rose, _always_.”

Rose looks up at him from her seat on the bed, her eyes suddenly over-bright and she blinks. The Doctor takes a cautious step forward, and when Rose doesn’t object he sits down gingerly beside her. He takes her hand, drawing it into both of his.

“I’m _always_ coming back for you, Rose, never forget that. If I’d been well and truly stuck in France, I’d have found a way. I’d have hitched a ride with one of my other selves, or done anything in my power to get back to you. I’m _never_ going to leave you behind.”

“Heard that before,” Rose says, taking her hand back. The Doctor sighs. Rose’s eyes flash and her gaze bores into his. “You talk and talk and talk, but you never mean any of it do you? You never actually think you might have to follow through.” Rose’s voice never rises, but the Doctor flinches all the same when she finishes.

“Rose, I –”

“Just stop,” she says, lifting a hand between them. The Doctor is stricken– he can feel the yawn of the abyss that is growing between them. “Look, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me–”

“Forever, Rose, you promised.” The words surprise even the Doctor himself, and startle Rose into looking into his eyes. “You _promised_.” he repeats, and there’s a depth behind the word that he’s never heard before.

“Yeah, I did,” Rose agrees, “but you’ve never promised me anything have you? It’s always me. You’ve never told me how long you were gonna stay with me. You never say, you just want me to keep my word because it’s easier than admitting it yourself, isn’t it? You’re a lot of things Doctor, but I never thought you were a coward.”

“I am, though!” the Doctor interrupts. He reaches for her hand again, and Rose lets him have it. “I am a coward, because you’re right.” A beat. “You’ve no idea, Rose, nearly a thousand years of life, and close to a million languages and still, there aren’t words–”

“Try,” Rose says, “please, Doctor. It needs saying. I can’t be alone in this.”

“You’re not,” he says immediately, and waits for Rose’s reaction. Her sharp intake of breath and the way her cheeks tint pink makes his hearts hammer in his chest. She ducks her head, but the Doctor reaches out with his other hand and lifts her chin. When their eyes meet, time slows. Her eyes are like warm whiskey, shining in the light of her bedroom. The Doctor swallows, and watches the way her eyes flick down to his throat and then back up to his face, catching on his mouth as she goes.

“I’m not very good at this,” the Doctor says, and Rose snorts, but a soft smile turns up the edges of her mouth and, _oh_ , he wants to see that smile every day. She waits for him to continue. He gathers his thoughts, tries not to get distracted by the way she licks her lips when he opens his mouth and goes on.

“I can’t promise you that I won’t put my foot in my mouth, or that I won’t say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, or make a decision because I think I know what’s best, or that I won’t sometimes have to leave you behind.” He stops and Rose is looking at him uncertainly. “But I _can_ promise you that I’ll always come back for you, that you never have to worry that I will drop you off and forget about you. I can promise that my hand will always hold yours, and I can promise to spend your forever with you.” He pauses, hearts hammering in his chest, and nerves twisting in his gut. “If you’ll have me?”

Rose bursts into tears and the Doctor’s hearts plummet into his stomach. She shakes her head, seeing his distress, “No, I’m okay,” she says, “just a bit overwhelmed.” Her voice is watery, and she sniffles when he wipes a tear from her cheek with his thumb, but her smile is brighter than the sun on any planet. “You know I love you, right?” She says, and the Doctor nods, throat tight. He swallows reflexively, but Rose barrels on without waiting for him to say anything. “I know you don’t go in for that, but I just wanted you to know.”

The Doctor struggles to find words, any words. Any words at all. In the end, Rose shakes her head again, and traces her fingertips down the side of his face to cup his jaw in her hand. He stops breathing.

“C’mere you,” Rose says finally, dragging him in by his tie. Their first kiss tastes like salt and tea and it’s a bit sloppy and the angle is all wrong, but it’s the best kiss the Doctor’s ever had. He vows silently that the universe can pull Rose out of his cold, dead hands, because he is never, ever, letting her go.


End file.
